


I'll Save This Dance for You

by chalantness



Series: I love you in this world (and the thousand others) [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 05:56:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10803132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness
Summary: AU. She knows she shouldn't volunteer to spend the day with him when she's still trying to keep her attraction to him in check. But she wouldn't be a good friend if she didn't at least offer it, right?





	I'll Save This Dance for You

**Author's Note:**

> "Just so you know, I would not say no to college AU art major Steve meets dance major Natasha and begs her to model for him. I'm just throwing that out there. With smut?" requested by [bloodredmoon87](http://bloodredmoon87.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Rewrote this and tweaked the prompt a little to fit the civilian 'verse, because I came across it again from a while back and thought it would be a perfect "prequel" of sorts! So I hope you don't mind the changes.

Natasha doesn't really think twice about walking around her apartment in just a bra and panties. She has two roommates, yes, but one of them has been her best friend since grade school and has seen her naked more than enough of times by now, and the other is her best friend's boyfriend. It's pretty obvious that Sam is really, really into Sharon, and while he isn't above handing out compliments (he tells Natasha at least once a day that she's beautiful, and he means it, too) she knows it's not because he's a flirt or anything. He's just _that_ charming, but he's in love with Sharon and would never even think about looking at anyone else. Natasha can tell these things. She wouldn't have agreed to him moving in otherwise.

So, no, walking out of the bathroom in just a towel after her shower when she knows Sam will probably be home isn't something she's worried about. She knows Sam isn't bothered by it, either, so it's fine.

She wasn't counting on Sam someone over, though.

" _Shit_. Sorry, sorry," someone blurts out, and Natasha spins around to find a pair of ridiculously bright blue eyes staring back at her. Steve, Sam's best friend. He's been over to their apartment before, of course, but usually Sam gives her a head's up when that happens.

"Hi." She sounds a little breathless, but, well. She wasn't counting on running into him when her towel is only loosely wrapped around her and already starting to slip. She crosses her arms in a gesture she hopes is a lot more discreet than it feels, holding her towel in place. If he notices the motion, he doesn't let it show, keeping his gaze steady on her face.

"What's wrong, man?" Sam asks, poking his head out of the kitchen, then raising his eyebrows when he sees Natasha. "Oh, hey. I didn't know you were home."

"Clearly." She shoots him a look. "I'm guessing you don't remember replying to my text about class being cancelled?"

"Vaguely," he answers with a wave of his hand. She almost rolls her eyes. Honestly, the guy can't ever remember anything he reads. "Sorry you almost walked in on her, Steve. I know how old-fashioned you are."

"Pretty sure _I'm_ the one you should be apologizing to, _ass_ ," she points out. She's not actually upset, though, and he laughs because he knows it. It's not like she's not some kind of exhibitionist, but she's never been all that self-conscious about her body, either. Sam has walked in on her naked more than once even before moving in, which could've been a hell of a lot more awkward if Sam wasn't so nonchalant. Honestly, almost _everything_ rolls right off the guy's shoulders, and she knows that's what attracted Sharon to him in the first place.

He snorts. "Oh, please. You'll love me again after I've fed you."

"Sam," Steve says in that amused yet exasperated tone he gets sometimes with Sam, but he's already poked his head back into the kitchen.

Natasha laughs. It's cute, this friendship of theirs. Sharon told her that they met because the housing department screwed up their dorm assignments, and Steve ended up rooming with Sam instead of his childhood best friend, Bucky, whom he requested. The three of them ended up on the same floor, though, and instead of requesting a switch, they just went along with it. Now they're all close, even if Sam and Bucky still act like they can't stand each other. That's what Sharon tells her, anyway. Natasha has only met Bucky once or twice, and it's funny because he looks like he'd be the shit disturber, but apparently that's Steve. Natasha can see it, though. The first time he'd quipped with her, she almost spit out her drink.

He's also a bit of a flirt. She wonders how much of that is him being unaware of his charm, and how much of it is her doing. Sharon's told her that she can come off suggestive.

"Sharon's on her way," Steve tells her, probably realizing he should explain what he's doing here, since obviously Sam hasn't said a word. "She breezed through her midterm and is feeling good about it, so she wanted to have lunch to celebrate. Sam's making steaks. We were going to save some for you for after your class," he adds with a dimpled grin.

 _Fuck_. This thing where she gets the urge to kiss him really, really needs to stop. Especially when he's right there, close enough for her to touch…

"That probably means I should put on some clothes."

His lips quirk. "Yeah, because you look terrible right now," he tells her. He's teasing, she can tell, but his tone is low and almost serious. His gaze is still locked on hers, too, but there's a sparkle in his eyes that makes her stomach do this stupid little flip. She feels more exposed than if he'd just openly checked her out, and she doesn't entirely hate the feeling.

She turns around and heads for her room, glancing over her shoulder as she slips inside. He's still watching her – not like he's trying to catch a glimpse of something, but like he can't quite bring himself to stop – and her lips tug into a smile before she can get the door closed. Honestly, hanging out with Steve would be a hell of a lot easier if she wasn't so attracted to him. And, well, it actually _is_ easy for her to hang out with him. Very easy, because he's funny and witty and reads her in a way she's never had with anyone that isn't Sharon. He's got all this confidence in himself, too, which is something that always comes off as sexy. But he's also humble and doesn't pat himself on the back for anything, even though he definitely can. Sam told her that he's breezing through his courses (well, as much as anyone can breeze through medical school) and already has a few offers for where he'll do his residency.

She's a _dancer_. Which she absolutely loves, and she doesn't regret it, but still. She won't be changing lives like Steve.

Besides, she doesn't do relationships. That's the real reason she's not trying to take things anywhere with Steve. He deserves someone who won't get bored when things get serious. She doesn't want to ruin their friendship over a fling, and she definitely doesn't want to risk it being this whole ordeal between her and Sam and Sharon if things don't work out.

So, yeah. She's hoping that this attraction to him will simmer down soon. It doesn't help that Sam always seems to have him over, though.

... ...

"Okay, I'm totally pissed at you."

Natasha just laughs at this, though, because Sharon is practically beaming right now, and her cheeks are totally pink from the margarita she's been sipping on since before they even started eating. (The girl can definitely hold her own when it comes to drinking, but one drop of alcohol and she gets flushed. It's kind of hilarious.) "What did I do?"

"It's more like what you _didn't_ do. Or _who_ , to be exact." Her smile turns smug. "I'm talking about Steve, in case it wasn't obvious."

"It was," Natasha says flatly, glancing over the girl's shoulder at where Sam and Steve are still cleaning up in the kitchen. They're too distracted at whatever they're laughing about to pay her and Sharon any attention, nor does she think they'd be able eavesdrop on them from the patio, but still. Sharon isn't exactly being discreet. "We've talked about this," Natasha reminds. Because of course Sharon picked up on Natasha's feeling, and the girl is all for it, though she bites her tongue because she knows how wary Natasha is about relationships.

But that doesn't stop her from nudging Natasha in that direction every now and then.

"I know," Sharon says, crossing one leg over the other as she leans back on the lounge chair. "But you can't expect me to watch you two flirt all of lunch and not say something."

"It wasn't all of lunch." Sharon arches an eyebrow. Natasha rolls her eyes. "He likes to flirt and so do I. It doesn't have to mean anything."

"If I believed that then I wouldn't be nagging you," Sharon says. Which, yes. Natasha knows this. The girl loves her too much to push for something if she genuinely thought Natasha was uncomfortable with it. "You know, everyone thought you were so badass when we were growing up. If only they could see how scared you are right now."

Natasha blinks. "Excuse me?"

"I'm just saying." Sharon grins. "I know relationships freak you out, but I've never seen you like this with anyone before. You shouldn't shy away from something that could be great."

Natasha shakes her head. "That's the first time anyone's ever accused me of being shy," she points out, and Sharon shrugs her shoulders cutely, flashing her teeth in a smile.

"Hope you ladies aren't laughing at us," Sam jokes as he and Steve step out onto the patio. It's getting warmer with summer around the corner, so it's gorgeous outside, but none of them actually felt like going _out_ to enjoy the weather. It's hard to find time to just laze around now, you know? But it's fine. They'll have just as much fun lounging around together.

"I'm always laughing at you," Sharon quips, and Sam chuckles, squeezing himself onto her lounge chair before pulling her onto his lap.

Steve is holding a smoothie in each hand and Natasha isn't all that surprised when he passes one to her. She didn't ask for one, but she passed up on the margarita Sharon offered to make her because she was already feeling warm. That's another thing about Steve. He's kind of strangely attuned to her, and yeah, Natasha has that with Sharon, but that's different. They've known each other since they were kids. Steve has always just _gotten_ her, from the first time they've ever hung out, and it's nice to have someone who knows what she wants.

"Thanks," she tells him, and he just shakes his head and sits in the chair next to her. "I'm surprised you didn't bring your paints up from your car. I know you love sunny days."

He grins. "Yeah, but Buck has the car today. Sam got me on his way to the store." He glances up at the sky, squinting against the sunlight. "I hope it's still bright like this tomorrow. I have to get a painting done for class and it'd be nice to have all this natural light to paint."

"What's the assignment this week?" she asks. Steve signed up for this art class at the senior center (and yeah, she and Sam teased the shit out of him about that) because he said he'd never make time for his art if he didn't schedule it in somehow, and this month has been about painting. It's kind of ridiculous for him to be in a class at all considering how skilled he already is. Hell, the community center asked him to head the mural that they painted in the fall and it's gorgeous. But she knows part of it is because he likes meeting new people.

"Life in motion," he answers with a bit of a laugh. "Basically I'm supposed to paint someone while they're working."

"I offered, but I don't think a sports bar is a great painting environment," Sharon chimes in. Sam sort of just shrugs. The guy is a physical therapist, and while she's sure some of his clients wouldn't mind being painted, she understands why Steve wouldn't think to ask. It's not as if he'd think to paint at the hospital he volunteers at, either.

"It's alright. It's not a big deal." Steve shrugs. "I'm sure I can get one of the employees at the bakery or the coffeehouse to let me paint them."

Natasha licks her lips a little, plays with the straw in her smoothie. She knows she shouldn't volunteer to spend the day with him when she's still trying to keep her attraction to him in check, especially when they'll be alone. But she wouldn't be a good friend if she didn't at least offer it, right?

"You could paint me."

Steve blinks, raises his eyebrows a little. Natasha doesn't have to look over her shoulder to know that Sam and Sharon are grinning like idiots, so she ignores them.

He rubs his lips together, and there's a moment where Natasha thinks he's going to politely decline. He doesn't like people going through any trouble for him, even though she knows he'd go out of his way to do someone else a favor. She rolls her eyes. "I don't have to work at the bar tomorrow, and rehearsal is in the morning. Just meet me at the studio after."

He contemplates this for a moment longer, but then his mouth is curving into a smile, small but bright, and her stomach does this stupid little flip. "I'll treat you to lunch."

"Obviously," she says, and she swears she hears Sam snicker.

... ...

She knew she had it bad for him. She didn't know that she had it _this_ bad. Bad enough that catching a glimpse of him standing in the doorway is all it takes to make a warmth ripple over her already flushed skin. Then he gives her that dimpled, boyish grin of his, and it's easy to forget that she's sweaty and out of breath and aching down to her bones.

 _Fuck_. She's so screwed.

"Hi," he says, glancing around the empty room. They'd just wrapped up rehearsals, and he'd probably passed a few of the other dancers on his way in. She watches as his eyes glance over the room slowly, deliberately, no doubt trying to commit every corner of the studio to memory. Then his gaze shifts back to hers and he grins. "You sure you're not too tired?" he asks as he shrugs his bag off of his shoulder and sets it down. "I mean, you won't have to dance the whole time, but you just finished rehearsing for two hours. I don't mind waiting."

She shakes her head. "I'll be fine if I do a slower routine. If I take a break now, I'll just get tired faster."

Steve nods at this, pulls out a bottled water from his backpack and hands it to her. "Just do your thing for a bit," he says as sits down. She twists the cap off of her water and takes a few gulps. "Pretend I'm not even here."

"I'm not posing?"

"No." He pulls his sketchbook into his lap and flips it open to a blank page, then pulls out a slim, metal case that he keeps his pencils in. She leans her arm against the barre as she watches him deliberate over which one to use. "I've never done it with much success, but the idea is that you're supposed to capture something in motion as organically as possible. So I was thinking that I could sketch you while you dance to get an idea of a pose and…" He trails off when he looks up at her, his lips tugging at the corners. "What's that smile for?"

She blinks. She hadn't realized she'd been smiling. "You get this wrinkle right here"—she leans down to smooth her thumb over the crease in his forehead, and then tries not to get distracted by the way his eyelashes flutter at her touch—"when you're concentrating." His smile widens a little more. "Clearly, you love your art."

He breathes out a bit of a laugh as he leans back against the mirrored wall. "Yeah. I didn't play as much when I was a kid because my health wasn't great. So art was my thing."

"Too much of a risk to make a career out of it?" She knows that could come off as judgmental, but she also knows that Steve wouldn't take it that way. Not from her.

"Nah." His expression softens, but his eyes are bright. "My mom's always been a nurse, and we'd get stopped around town by her patients all the time. They were always so happy to see her, and they'd tell me how much she changed their lives, even just by talking to her." He shrugs a shoulder. "I knew I wanted to help like she did, or at least get the chance to."

Natasha feels a warmth flutter in her chest. She'd always suspected that his mother was his reason for going into medical, but she kind of loves that he shared it with her, too.

Then his lips quirk at the corners, and there's a shift in his expression. "Art still comes in handy, though. I mean, in a few years from now, I'll get to say I painted a brilliant, beautiful dancer before she became famous. I'll have to get you to sign this."

She laughs as she pushes off of the barre, ignoring the stupid little flip her stomach does.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Rogers."

He chuckles and shakes his head, and she heads over to the corner of the room set her phone up with the Bluetooth speakers. She scrolls through her dance playlist until she finds a song for the routine a few of them had performed as their final for last semester. She knows she isn't nervous. She wouldn't make it very far as a performer she couldn't dance for an audience of _one_. And she's comfortable with Steve, obviously. She really doesn't know why she feels vulnerable right now, but then she glances over her shoulder to find Steve looking at her, a smile on his face, and whatever brief wave of uneasiness she'd been feeling dissolves just like that. (Oh, she's definitely got it bad.) He nods at her, and she starts the song.

It's easy to lose herself when she's dancing. Yes, there's actually quite a lot of thought that goes into a routine – counts and cues and rhythms and _hours_ of committing choreography to muscle memory – but when all is said and done, she doesn't really think at all when she's dancing. Not about the actual steps, at least. Her body does the motions on its own while the song is washing over her and sinking into her bones, reaching into these corners of her mind that she sometimes forgets are there. It's kind of a strange feeling, but she loves it.

She ends up with her back to him when the song fades out, and then she glances over her shoulder as her phone shifts to the next track.

He looks like… He looks like he's totally in _awe_.

His lips art parted ever so slightly, his eyes a little wide and totally bright, and there's that adorable little wrinkle in his forehead. She doesn't realize until this moment that he's never seen her dance before. It's so comfortable between them that it's easy to forget that she's only really known him for a handful of months, and she hasn't had a performance between then and now. Well, there was her final, and she did invite him to come with Sharon and Sam, but he was heading home that day and would've missed his flight. She didn't mind, of course, but now she feels a little _glad_ that he wasn't able to watch. Because she kind of loves getting to see his reaction like this, so up close and personal, with no one else around.

"Nat," he says, and, okay, maybe she likes the fact that he sounds breathless a little too much. "That was incredible."

She presses her lips together from smiling too widely. _Fuck_ , she feels like a freaking schoolgirl right now. It's ridiculous. "Thanks," she tells him. "Should I do it again?"

"You can, if you want. Or you can do another routine." He smiles. "Trust me, Nat, I won't have any trouble remembering how you look when you dance."

She turns her back to him before he can see her blush, though she could probably just blame it on the dancing. She rolls her shoulders back as she scrolls for another song. She can probably only keep this up for another few routines before her body finally gives out on her. Which is fine, because she'll have a few days to take it easy before her next rehearsal.

The next routine she runs through is a little slower and has a lot more emotion. She hasn't danced it in a year, so she scuffs the floor twice and sort of stumbles during a twirl, but it comes back easily enough. He's started sketching now, and yup, there's that little wrinkle in his forehead. She can see his hand moving swiftly over the page in the reflection of the mirror he's leaning against, though she can't quite make out what he's got so far. Then her phone shuffles to a track that she'd performed to last semester, so she does that routine. And her bun, which had already started to come undone from rehearsals, finally unravels in the middle of the song, and her hair is sort of falling in her face when she gets to the end.

"What?" she asks, because there's something in his eyes that she can't quite decipher.

"Nothing." She arches an eyebrow. He gives her this little grin. "Your hair looks really nice like that."

"Shut up. My hair is a wreck," she scoffs, running her fingers through the length of it. Something crossing his expression, too quick for her to catch, and then he's grinning at her again as he shrugs a shoulder. "Do you need to see more?"

His voice is soft when he answers, "Yes," without even glancing at what's on his page, and she feels her heart skip. Then he clears his throat, gives her a crooked smile. "I mean, no. You can stop if you're tired. I think I already know what I'll be painting." His smile softens. "But I just need to keep watching you dance. You're amazing, Nat."

Well, shit. Not once has anyone told her that they _need_ to see her dance.

"Fine," she says, and she hopes her voice doesn't sound as giddy to him as it does to her. "Since flattery gets you everywhere."

She decides to do the piece they've been working on for the last month, since it's still fresh in her head from rehearsal, and she doesn't mind picking up the tempo a little bit. She'd thought she'd be too tired to do more than two or three routines, but she feels fine. It's different when you're performing rather than just rehearsing, though. She's always been told that it's strange for her to be a dancer when she's not that fond of attention, but honestly? She kind of loves it. She knows she's good, and that's not because she thinks so highly of herself. She's been dancing since she could walk, basically, and there's no way she would've kept up with the competition if she doubted herself. It's just how you have to be wired.

So, yeah. That look of awe that's been on Steve's face since she started? She just really wants to keep seeing it.

And she doesn't think twice, really, when the song comes to an end and her phone shuffles to another track. It's something she danced to at the beginning of the semester, so she just goes right into the routine. She doesn't realize until about ten counts in that the song is…

Well, it's a lot more sensual than the others. And obviously so is the dance.

She ends up facing Steve when she comes out of a turn, places a hand on her hip and slides it upward, and she watches as his eyes traces over her curves with the motion. Which is definitely the point to that move, and she didn't think twice about it the low whistles and the looks it drew when they'd performed in back in February.

She's definitely thinking about the look on Steve's face, though – the little flutter of his eyelashes, and the way his lips are just barely parted, and how dark and hazy his eyes are right now – and it makes a warmth flutter low in her stomach. Then her hand makes it into her hair and she combs her fingers through and he swallows lightly. She feels herself smile. The routine is barely three minutes long, but suddenly, that feels like way too much time, and she thinks that that's too many damn counts to go through before she can end it and—

And walk right up to Steve and kiss him, because he's _looking_ at her like he wants to do it himself, and she thinks it's really, really stupid that she's trying to keep her distance.

She spins away, flips her hair over her shoulder and sort of rolls her hips into a bend, and her heart skips when she hears something – it sounds like his sketchbook – falling onto the floor. She goes through four more counts and then swivels back around, and suddenly he's walking up to her, standing right in front of her, and she comes to a stop as she meets his gaze. His eyes are the darkest, most vibrant shade of blue she's ever seen, and he's close enough that she can feel his breath come out in uneven puffs, like he's straining himself.

"Nat," he whispers, his voice sounding almost _pained_. It's something she'd normally poke fun at him about, but she can't quite catch her breath, either.

She leans in, blinks up at him, and he reaches out and slides one of his hands over her hip, his fingers flexing.

"Can I—" he starts, and she says his name in this sharp, little huff, and she swears she sees the corners of his lips twitch into a freaking _smirk_ right before he's got both hands on her and he's kissing her. It's hot and hard and heavy, and he slides a hand up her back and presses her even closer, so that she sort of has to tip her head back to keep kissing him, and she makes this little noise when he nips at her lips. Then he pulls away so abruptly that she's actually a little disoriented, gripping onto his shirt with both hands as if to steady herself.

He presses his forehead against hers, squeezes her with the hand still on her hip. "Natasha, is this… Are we…?" He lets out a breath. "I'm not trying to doubt you, but is this—"

She _laughs_ , because she's never heard him stumble over his words this much before, and brushes her lips over his. "Yes," she says, even though he didn't even form a proper question. It doesn't matter, though. The answer to anything he could've asked her is _yes_ , she wants this, wants _him_ , to be with him. She really, really does.

"Okay. Good." He traces the skin over the waistband of her yoga pants. She shivers lightly. "Let's get out of here?"

" _Yes_ ," she breathes, and he chuckles.

... ...

She honestly can't remember the short drive to her apartment. She knows they must've talked about Sam and Sharon, because he wouldn't have taken her home if they knew their friends would be walking in on them. But neither of them will be back until tonight, and it's the first time Natasha is actually _glad_ that their schedules aren't overlapping.

And she knows it's ridiculous for her to care about it, but, _fuck_. She'd rehearsed for two hours and then performed five routines for him and she knows she must look a wreck.

"I'm gross," she mumbles against his lips, because he'd pulled her in and kissed her before she'd barely gotten the door locked behind them.

"You're beautiful," he replies easily, not missing a beat, and she doesn't hate at all how quick he is to compliment her. Especially because she knows he means it.

"No," she breathes out a laugh, tilting her head away so she can, you know, _talk_. "I'm all sweaty and I really need a shower."

He gives her that crooked grin of his, hums as he kisses her again, a little slower, a little deeper. He licks at the seam of her lips and she makes a noise from the back of her throat. "Whatever you want," he says, kissing her lips, and then the corner of her mouth, and then the apple of her cheek, until he's right next to her ear when he says, "I could join you."

She very nearly whimpers. Instead, she pushes her fingers into his hair and drags his lips back to hers, practically hisses, "You _better_ ," before kissing him again.

She's glad that he knows her apartment just as well as she does, because she's honestly not paying attention to anything other than his tongue pressing into her mouth as he guides them down the hallway and into the bathroom, locking the door ( _just in case_ ). She reaches for the hem of her top and peels it off, and then almost _jumps_ when he dips his head and presses a kiss to the flat of her stomach. He teases his tongue over every inch of skin he can reach, and she actually fumbles a little in her desperation to wiggle out of her sports bra.

He hooks his thumbs over the waistband of her yoga pants and kisses down her stomach as he peels her yoga pants down her thighs. He kisses lower, _lower_ , and she actually has to lean back against the wall because she half expects her legs to give out on her.

"Steve," she breathes, and he skims his lips back up, pressing one last kiss between the dip of her breasts before pulling away.

His eyes trace over her, darker and stormier than ever. She knows she must look totally desperate, with her hair a mess and her skin flushed and her folds so slick that she can feel it on the inside of her thighs. But he has that look of awe on his face, like he did when they first kissed, like he did when he watched her dance, and she actually has the urge to _giggle_.

"Start the shower?" His voice is low and a little gravelly and so incredibly sexy. She leans up and gives him a quick kiss and he chuckles, gives her hip a squeeze.

She can hear him undressing as she twists the water on, and she glances over her shoulder and actually feels a pulse between her legs when she sees that he's stripped down to his briefs. She's seen him shirtless before when they've gone to the beach, but _fuck_. She feels a warmth unravel in her stomach at the sight of him every time. The fact that his briefs are teasing a hell of a lot more to her than his swim trunks ever did is probably helping things. She gnaws on her lower lip, gaze flicking up to his face in time to catch the way his eyes are damn near captivated with every inch of her bared skin. Then his gaze shifts to hers, and he gives her that boyish smile of his as he pushes his briefs off, letting them fall to the floor.

" _Fuck_ ," she breathes, because, seriously? "Are you kidding me?"

He knows that's supposed to be some kind of compliment coming from her, so he laughs, a bit of pink touching his cheeks as he walks over to her. She's trying not to stare, but you can't really blame her.

Then he grasps her chin with his fingers, tips her face back so that he can look into her eyes. "Hi," he says, almost a whisper.

She doesn't mean to giggle. He doesn't take it the wrong way, though, so it's fine. "Hi," she echoes, taking his hands in hers as she steps backwards into the shower, tugging him with her. She doesn't even flinch when the warm water hits her from the nozzle overhead. She's too focused on Steve to notice. "My water bill is going to be ridiculous this month."

"I'll split it with you," he says, and then steps her backwards until she feels the water wet her hair, spilling down her back and over her shoulders. She parts her lips in surprise, then parts them a little more in a moan that actually echoes off the walls when he dips forward and latches his lips onto her throat. He kisses her once, twice, tucks his fingers into her hair and starts gently massaging the warm water into her scalp as he sucks over her pulse. She whimpers, fumbling to hold onto him, to draw him closer, because _fuck_. That feels good.

"Steve," she breathes, scratching her nails down his chest. His muscles flex under her touch, his breath stuttering against the column of her throat.

She needs _more_.

"I know," he mumbles into her skin, but, shit. She hadn't realized she'd said that out loud. "I don't have a condom."

"I don't care," she says a little too eagerly for her own liking, but the pressure between her legs is driving her _crazy_. He pulls back a little, glances at her. Okay, maybe that had been the wrong thing to say. "I trust you," she amends, taking his face in her hands and kissing him. "And there are condoms in my bedroom if you really want to leave me—"

"Stop," he says on a laugh, kissing her again, once, twice, his hands sliding over her hips and squeezing. "Just this once?" She nods. (Because she _is_ responsible, despite the fact that she'd just forgotten about protection entirely. Steve is a distracting person, okay?)

Then his lips are on hers again before she can _blink_ , pinning her against the wall, and her lips part in a gasp at the cold tiles against her back. He slips his tongue in, presses it against hers, and she grips onto his hair tightly with one hand, digging her nails into the muscle of his shoulder with the other. He kisses her harder and heavier and a hell of a lot rougher than she'd ever anticipated. Not that she has any complaints, or is entirely surprised by it, honestly. She's always wondered if there was this side to him. She really likes that she was right.

She actually nips his lip in surprise when she feels him slide two fingers over her slick heat, stroking, _teasing_ , as if she wasn't already turned on beyond comprehension.

"Steve," she almost whines, because he's circling her bundle of nerves and she swears she's starting to see stars.

"What?" He's playing innocent. She's almost positive of that. "Maybe I like touching you."

"I'm pretty sure you'd like _fucking_ me a lot better," she almost growls, but then he's pressing her legs apart, his hard length brushing against her slick folds, and her voice tapers off into a moan. Her walls flutter in anticipation, and her desire is wound so tightly that it almost feels smothering. The steam from the shower probably isn't helping things, either.

He presses right at her entrance, sweeps his knuckles gently over the curve of her cheek in a gesture that seems like the most intimate thing she's ever felt, which is _ridiculous_ considering what they're in the middle of doing. She doesn't have time to dwell on that, though, because then he's pushing into her and she can't think of anything except for the delicious press of him inside her, stretching her, filling her, making her body quiver. She lets her head fall back against the wall, her vision already going hazy. Or maybe that's the steam. She doesn't know. She doesn't _care_. Not when he's fully inside her and has one hand braced against the tile, his breaths uneven, like it's almost too much for him, too.

"Perfect," he breathes, his forehead falling against hers. "You feel _perfect_."

"Took the words right out of my mouth." His lips pull back, teeth bared in a brilliant smile. "You have no idea how many times I've pictured this."

" _Stop_ ," he says with a laugh. "Keep talking like that and I'm not going to last long." She giggles. _Good to know_. "I've imagined this, too. So many times." His lips tug into a smirk. "And I'm an artist. You have no idea how vivid my imagination is."

She doesn't know whether to tease him for sounding corny or _beg_ him to tell her every little detail, but she doesn't have to decide, because his lips are on hers again and he's pulling out, making her whimper, making her walls flutter in protest. He rolls his hips gently, slowly, no doubt to give her time, and _god_ , as much as she loves being able to feel every delicious press and pull of him, she needs _more_. She hooks a leg around him and meets his thrust, rolling her hips in an attempt to get him to go faster, and he groans and does exactly that.

Her head is spinning, her lungs burning for air, but she doesn't want to stop kissing him, either.

He thrusts in deeper, somehow, and she actually yanks her lips away from his to mumble, " _Fuck_ , yes, _harder_ —"

He sort of grunts in response, hooks her other leg around his waist and presses her a little higher up the wall, making the angle change, brushing against a spot that has her seeing stars. She actually cries out his name, her voice echoing off of the walls, and he hits that spot again and again and again, making her dissolve into nothing but a slur of moans.

Then his lips are on her neck again, nipping and sucking, his tongue teasing against her wet skin, and he doesn't even flinch when she drags her nails down the muscles of his back. She'd be more embarrassed by how she's whimpering his name over and over if he wasn't making her feel _so_ _fucking good_. Her walls are fluttering and her heart is stuttering in her chest, and then his fingers splay over her ass, lifting her up just a little bit more and pressing her just a little bit closer, so that he's hitting that sweet spot on every delicious thrust.

"Oh, o- _oh_." She's trembling because she's so, _so_ close, and she kisses him like she's trying to let him know, because she sure as hell can't form the actual words.

"Wanted this for so long," he says, his breath hot against her face. His voice quivers ever so slightly, and she feels a ripple of satisfaction at the thought that he sounds just as wrecked as she feels. That this feels just as incredible for him as it does for her. "Wanted you so fucking bad."

She'd laugh at him swearing if she had enough breath to do so.

In fact, she feels as if she doesn't have any breath in lungs at all, because she's unraveling at the seams, mumbling god knows what as she's falling over that dizzying edge. He kisses her through it, along her throat and under her jaw and over her cheek, his lips brushing against every inch of skin he could reach, with a gentleness so unlike the thrust of his hips that it's almost disorienting. It's this gesture that's so sweet, so incredibly _Steve_ , that cuts through the haze of her orgasm so that some small part of her mind to realize that Steve is still chasing that peak, and she tries to meet his thrusts as her body trembles in its high. He groans her name, slips a hand between them and rubs his thumb in quick, gentle circles over her clit, and she lets out a cry and almost shakes her head because it's almost too much, _too much_. Her walls flutter even more so, her body shuddering, and she can't quite _breathe_.

When he pulls out abruptly, she actually _whimpers_ , whines his name in protest, but then his head is pressing against hers and he's groaning and she feels his release hit her skin, and the sound of him coming undone right next to her ear is possibly the best thing she's ever heard.

They're both sort of clinging onto each other, slumped against the wall as they come back down. She barely registers the water still showering over them.

" _Fuck_." She swallows a breath, eyelashes fluttering open. His face is barely an inch from hers, his bright blue eyes sparkling in a way she hasn't quite seen before. "Steve, that—"

"Yeah," he breathes out with a bit of a chuckle. "It was for me too." Then he presses their foreheads together, nudges her nose with his. "And it was damn worth the wait."

She feels herself smile. "Better than the fantasies?" He grins, kisses her cheek rather than answering, but she knows what he means. She slips her fingers into his hair and hums. "You're still telling me about those, though."

He laughs, and, alright, she was wrong. _That_ is the best thing she's ever heard.

... ...

The hot shower water was practically lukewarm when they'd gotten around to actually taking a shower, and there was a phone on her text from Sharon when they'd gotten out, telling her that she and Sam wouldn't be home until the morning. Apparently the guy had surprised Sharon with dinner reservations in this restaurant that she loves in the next town over, so they're just spending the night in a hotel, which is kind of awesome. Natasha knows there's no hiding anything from her best friend, and she doesn't want to hide this, anyway, but still.

She gets a few more hours of peace. Sharon is hardly the kind of person to rub it in when she's right, but she'd probably make an exception in this case.

" _God_ ," she groans, stretching her arms and legs out. They ordered in Thai food for dinner and are eating in her room, because she'd plopped herself on the bed after their shower and just couldn't get back up. Whatever little energy she would've had after rehearsals and running those routines for Steve, he'd literally fucked it out of her. The only reason she's even in a bra and panties is because Steve said there's no way he'd be able to keep his hands off of her if she didn't put something on, and she definitely isn't ready for a round two just yet.

At least not until after she's gotten some food in her and caught her second wind.

(They're definitely not done for the night.)

"You okay?" he asks, and she knows he's genuinely concerned and not being smug. Well, not _just_ being smug. There's definitely a smirk playing on the corner of lips.

She glares, but she's smiling, so it's not very effective. "I'll live," she says, setting her carton of noodles on the nightstand so she can take a gulp of her water. She catches sight of his backpack sitting unzipped on the floor, the spiral binding of his sketchbook poking out, and she leans over to pluck it up. "You know, I never saw your sketches from earlier."

"Oh," he says with a bit of a laugh. She knows he doesn't mind her looking through (she's done it before) so she pulls it into her lap and flips it open.

She blinks, her heart actually skipping a beat at what she sees: a drawing of her, mid-twirl on the point of her toes, her other leg kicked out and her hair sort of falling around her face. Her expression is half-hidden, but you can see the ghosts of a smile on her lips. The dance studio behind her has barely been penciled in, but the drawing of her? She hardly considers it a _sketch_. He'll probably be cleaning it up in places, but, shit. There's so much detail, such care to the strokes of his pencil, and he's even shaded in the flush in her cheeks so that it's obvious that she's exerting herself. But despite that, she looks completely serene. She looks… _stunning_. She's seen photos and videos of herself before, of course, but this is different.

This is how _he_ sees her.

"What do you think?" He's scooted closer, peering at the page over her shoulder. "The painting will look better with the color, of course, but I think – hey." He furrows his eyebrows a little when she lifts her head. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's beautiful, Steve," she tells him. His expression eases, but only a little. "I love it. I promise."

She can see it in his eyes that he knows something else is still on her mind. But he must sense that she's not up to talking about it, at least not yet, because his lips curve into a that dimpled, boyish smile that she loves, his voice sort of soft as he says, "I'm glad." She gives him a little grin, leans in when he presses a kiss to her hair, and just like that, she feels at ease again. He's always been able to read her, always knows just what to say or do, and that makes it a hell of a lot easier to believe that she won't screw things up between them.

She _can't_ screw things up. Because she doesn't think she's ever felt this way about anyone, and this drawing tells her that it might be the same for him.

"Hey," he says, and she tilts her head to meet his gaze, his eyes bright with adoration. There's really no other word to describe. "Thanks for dancing for me today."

She smiles. "Next time, you ought to dance with me."

"Well, if I've got a partner like you, how could I refuse?" he says, and, okay, she kind of _has_ to kiss him for that.


End file.
